


Fabergé Dragons

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon except Victor has kind of a big fantastic secret, Dragons, Eggs, Faberge Eggs, I'll have you know I'm a very pretty lady dragon, Light-Hearted, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: “Well, where did youthinkFabergé eggs came from?” Victor asked.





	Fabergé Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> I've been deep in other fun projects and [running my first zine](https://prismyoi.tumblr.com/), but this idea's been sitting with me for a long time and I just had to get it out. So I wrote it all in the last four hours. Apologies if it's rough.
> 
> Special thanks to Sintina for the beta!

The letter came in the mail, which was Yuuri’s first hint that something was up. The only thing that came in the mail were bills, advertisements for local food delivery, and the Millions Sky magazine that he’d told Victor a thousand times to cancel because every time it arrived Victor moped for at least three hours about how come _his_ hips would never look that good in alligator pants? This letter was none of those things; it didn’t even look like it came from this century.

Victor’s name shone in golden calligraphy across the front, hand-written on a shimmery vellum envelope with an antique stamp of the imperial eagle. Turning it over revealed a wax seal, also gold, imprinted with a filigree egg. Just as Yuuri was leaning in to examine the word sprawled across the egg’s middle, Victor shrieked, and he dropped the entire bundle of mail altogether.

“Yuuri!”

The high-pitched noise, though familiar, was abrupt enough to have Yuuri twisting with a glare, holding a hand at his heart: “Victor! What did we agree about the screaming?!”

Victor trotted to the door where Yuuri was collecting the mail again, kissing Yuuri’s cheek as he plucked the envelope from Yuuri’s hands.

“I can’t believe it’s been six years already!” Victor said, holding it to the light. The vellum edges glowed, showing a yolk of papers inside.

“Victor is this—” Things suddenly clicked for Yuuri. “Is this about— _you know_?”

Yuuri had never exactly _believed_ Victor. It was far too fantastic, and information online was strictly controlled, meaning most investigations led to a cesspit of conspiracy theories and tenuous speculation. But with every moment Victor fondled the envelope, studying the seal and finally ripping it open, Yuuri felt himself hoping, if not outright believing.

The paper inside was lined with the same elegant scrawl as the front, a deep indigo ink this time. Yuuri could piece together a few of the cyrillic words, and then his eyes landed on the final confirmation:

_Dragon_.

He studied each individual letter to no avail. There it was, clear as day, affirmation that Yuuri’s husband was far more spectacular than he’d ever imagined (which was a considerable amount, really).

“It’s… real?”

“I told you it was,” Victor pouted. “Didn’t you believe me?”

“I believed _you_ ,” Yuuri assured. “I just didn’t believe… well… _it_.”

At the bottom of the letter was a date, two days from now.

“What’s… _induction_ mean?” Yuuri asked, wrinkling his nose as he pointed at the word.

“It means they’re asking me to come earlier than my normal season. They’ll have to trigger the transformation artificially,” Victor said.

“The transformation.” Yuuri repeated, numb, the revelation too much to take in all at once.

“It probably means a new dragon appeared and they want to synchronize our cycles,” Victor mused. “My last mate was very old.”

"Who's your new ... mate?" Yuuri asked, brow furrowed.

"I don't know," Victor said. "Many people just want to do it and be done, and knowing names can make things... complicated. I always request my identity be kept secret. Most do."

Yuuri gave a snort: "You don't want people knowing the secret of Russia's Hero?"

“That secret's just for you.”

—

Two Fabergé eggs sat on a high shelf in Victor’s apartment, their twinkling jewels and golden metalwork muted by a layer of dust that Victor never seemed particularly inclined to remove. When he first arrived in St. Petersburg, Yuuri had gone through the apartment meticulously, trying to organize or clean or in some way anxiously make up for invading Victor’s personal space. He’d nearly toppled one of the eggs over only to have Victor cry out “careful!” and rush to his side. Yuuri asked about them—he always asked about Victor’s things, knowing so much about Victor’s public persona and so little of his personal life.

Even then, the story had seemed surreal, almost impossible, and yet Victor admitted it with a mixture of humble vulnerability and quiet pride. Pride that he was part of a remarkable lineage. Vulnerable in that he’d never admitted it to anyone. He’d never had to. Wanted to. Yuuri just had to find a way to believe it.

“Well, where did you _think_ Fabergé eggs came from?” Victor asked, his brow knitted up in confusion.

“Not _that_!” Yuuri defended. But then Victor gave his impenetrable pout and Yuuri found himself speckling Victor’s cheeks and half-lidded eyes in kisses. “I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything, right?”

“You’re still my life and my love,” Victor swore. “Just don’t get too jealous, every six years.”

Yuuri laughed: “We’ll figure that out when we get to it.”

—

“I’ll be gone for two weeks!” Victor announced at practice the next day, “Yuuri and I are going on a romantic honeymoon!”

“ _Again_?!” Yakov fumed. “That’s the third one this—“

“No! This one is _different_ ,” Victor insisted. He held up a finger as if to make a point. “I won’t have my cell phone.”

“Bah! At this rate I won’t have any students left!” Yakov continued. “Mila goes to Italy, Yuri runs off who knows where, now _you’re_ going on some technological retreat. Why do I even bother?!”

“I knew you’d understand,” Victor said, surrounding Yakov in an embrace.

“You approve of this?” Yakov asked, turning on Yuuri now. Yuuri had never been able to stand up to Yakov’s inquisition the way the other Russians could. He opened his mouth and stuttered until Yakov rolled his eyes. “You’re both staying late when you get back.”

“But Yakov— _I’m_ Yuuri’s coa—“

“Both of you.”

—

“So—how does it—what’s it _like_?” Yuuri asked through his blush. They’d been picked up by a black car trimmed in gold, almost gaudy if it weren’t the luxury body. The leather seats squeaked as Yuuri shifted his weight and Victor helped himself to the small bottle of champagne.

“Well, it’s all a bit fuzzy, really,” Victor said. “Sort of like a dream.”

“But you’re still _you_ , right?” Yuuri frowned.

“What, worried I might eat you?” Victor teased.

“You eat?!”

“How else am I supposed to last two weeks? They usually feed us smelt ore and limestone, some coke and geodes…”

“Rocks.”

“Metals.”

“And gemstones?”

“That’s why they look so pretty,” Victor beamed.

—

It looked like a fairy tale.

It shouldn’t have been possible, hiding such a pristine estate so close to St. Petersburg, and yet in less than an hour they’d driven over a dirt road and up the long circular drive to an imperial-era palace worthy of any tsar. Staff dressed in fine tuxes opened the doors for them and drew their luggage from the trunk. Mostly Yuuri’s. Victor insisted he wouldn’t need much. A few changes of clothes. They’d take care of him, he said.

“Mr. and Mr. Nikiforov, welcome. Right this way,” one of the elegant men said, leading them into halls better suited for a museum. The ceiling towered above, domed and decorated with images of enameled dragons and clockwork eggs, gold and silver with pink and crimson lacquer or scales the color of daffodils. In glass cases lining the hall were eggs themselves, interspersed with portraits of individual dragons: _Vladislav Fedot “Scarlet Heart” Bernikov_ beneath an image of a swarthy, brass and black dragon so round it could almost be a tea-kettle from a distance, save for the ruby on its chest, easily the size of Yuuri’s fist.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri whispered. “It’s real. Victor—this can’t be real.”

And both Victor and their guide chuckled.

“First time,” the guide said.

“First time,” Victor confirmed.

—

Their suite was a virtual chateau unto itself, a mini-residence complete with every luxury, yet they only had enough time to glance in the various rooms before the guide apologetically cleared his throat.

“If everything is to your liking, Mr. Nikiforov, we would like to begin the induction with haste. Your mate has already been transformed for nearly 72 hours.”

“Poor thing!” Victor gave a sympathetic pout. He took one last look around the space, as if he’d been there for any time at all, and then took Yuuri’s hand. “I’m ready, then. Lead the way.”

The guide studied their laced fingers and made no move to separate them, merely handed off the gilded room key to Yuuri and then led them down a different long hall, towards a sunlit atrium with a suspended dragon made of gold-dipped ceramic tiles. Before Yuuri could even appreciate it, they’d gone through another set of doors, into the crisp spring air and along a vast, garden-lined stretch of dusty pebbles flanked by what looked like elegant stables.

In a half-moon of smooth dirt inset into one of the gardens was a tea table and three seats, two empty and one occupied by such a caricature of a man that Yuuri would have laughed if the whole place weren’t so serious: waxed mustache, top hat, and a cane topped with a golden egg that he flipped open to tell the time.

“We appreciate your speed, Mr. Nikiforov,” the man said as he stood and shook their hands, formalities before they sat. Yet another tuxedoed staffmember came forward, carrying a glass of water and a small plate. In the middle of the plate sat an ornate pill box, and inside of that a ball of solid gold. “Thank you for sharing your husband, Mr. Nikiforov,” the man said to Yuuri. “My name is Ivan Fabergé, if you need anything during your stay.”

“Th-thank you,” Yuuri murmured. He looked at Victor, and the golden pill that Victor was inspecting. “...it doesn’t hurt, does it?” Yuuri asked.

“Not at all,” Ivan assured.

“Don’t let him worry,” Victor said to Ivan. “He always worries.” Victor covered Yuuri’s hand with his own, squeezed, and then popped the golden orb into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

—

Perhaps he’d been expecting an immediate reaction: for Victor to sprout wings or breathe fire or _something_ , but instead Victor just made a face at the size of the pill and then got up, nodding to Ivan and making grabby hands at Yuuri until Yuuri got up and walked with him towards the stables.

“Are you alright? Where are we going?” Yuuri asked.

“To see my mate!” Victor said. “I hope he’s handsome.”

Yuuri stopped in his tracks. “He?”

Victor twisted around. His normally shiny forehead seemed to have more shimmer than Yuuri remembered, and he would have squinted to inspect it if his mind weren’t reeling from a completely separate idea. “What do you mean _he_?”

“I told you I’m the one who makes the eggs!” Victor pouted.

“I thought you meant you—you _helped_ ,” Yuuri made a flustered outward gesture near his groin. “You mean you’re—the mom?”

“Hmph! I’ll have you know I’m a very pretty lady dragon,” Victor scoffed, continuing towards the stables. Yuuri glanced over his shoulder. Their guide from before was following at a respectable distance, as if to make sure they made it to their destination. Behind him, Ivan still sat at the table, inspecting his cane. The absurdity of it all crashed on Yuuri’s head and he found himself laughing.

“You—you _can’t possibly_ —“

And that was when Victor Nikiforov turned into a dragon.

—

It happened so quickly and resulted in such beauty that for a solid seven seconds Yuuri could do absolutely nothing but gape like a fish out of water, having fallen onto his ass out of sheer shock and surprise.

Dragon Victor was roughly the size of a horse, though slim and doe-like in his body proportions, with a long elegant neck and backward-pointing horns made of crystal. They sent the light cascading across the dirt in shards of rainbow, rooted in pools of gold on Victor’s forehead. Every scale on his body was edged in golden filigree and covered in pearly enamel, subtle flashes of color appearing with every motion of his body, every breath that expanded the trim barrel of Victor’s chest. A netting of gold with pearl at every intersection draped over Victor’s back and down his tail, the tip of which sprawled in a fan of crystal points.

The dragon bent its head towards Yuuri, and the eyes were the same cyan Yuuri knew and loved, though now they were made of swirled glass and lined in diamonds.

“Victor?” Yuuri managed, getting to his feet with the help of the guide. “Victor?” The second more desperate than the first as he reached out to touch, finding the enamel of Victor’s pearly cheek warm to the touch. Victor nuzzled into Yuuri’s hand, making a sound almost like a music box, nearly laughter. It was so light-hearted Yuuri’s fears fell away, even if his wonder remained. “It’s really real,” Yuuri whispered.

“This way,” their guide urged, and Victor’s snort was warm, like a gust from a fire, as he tousled Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri couldn’t help but stare as they walked towards the stable, every moment finding a new detail, some ornate filigree, or seeing the undertones of pink and magenta in Victor’s scales, the woven strands of gold that draped between his horns, or the crystal glimmer of his talons.

Victor’s majesty was hardly reduced when they went inside, though his entourage of rainbows decreased considerably without direct sunlight. Where Yuuri had expected stalls, this stable was more open, a single vast enclosure in the back filled with soft straw and already occupied by a snorting, rearing dragon of its own.

Victor’s mate, Yuuri realized.

Yuuri expected to feel a pulse of jealousy but instead he was just intrigued. This dragon looked almost black, yet in the light shone indigo. His belly was a soft lavender, silverwork mixed in with the gold. Where Victor’s body portions were deerish and thin, this dragon could well have been a draft horse; both of its individual pectoral plates were nearly the size of lunch trays. Yuuri tried to imagine the sort of man—or woman, he realized—who would turn into a dragon like that, and was so engrossed in the idea that he didn’t realize until the guide opened the gate to let Victor into the enclosure that there was someone else already waiting outside.

For the umpteenth time that day, Yuuri wound up in stunned silence.

It was Otabek Altin.

—

Less jarring than Otabek Altin’s presence was the realization of what that meant for Victor’s mate, a revelation that both Yuuri and Otabek shared at precisely the same moment.

“Victor,” Otabek realized.

“Then—Yuri!?” Yuuri gasped.

The two turned towards the enclosure, but the dragons inside didn’t either hear or understand. The great purple drake, Yuri, looked elated if anything, entranced by the sudden appearance of the pearly-gold dragoness. And Victor basked in the sudden attention: in the flare of Yuri’s nostrils and the way he extended his wings, made of an enamel so thin that the light shone through like stained glass, save for the golden bones of Yuri’s fingers.

“Should we—can we stop them?” Yuuri asked.

“Not after the transformation,” the guide said from behind them.

Otabek looked at Yuuri's shock and tried to explain: “Yuri went to the hospital thinking he was dying; he said it felt terrible, warm everywhere. One of the doctors... was with _them_ ," Otabek gestured faintly back towards the estate, "and managed to recognize the symptoms and explain what was happening before Yuri transformed. He... knew what was going to happen."

Yuuri swallowed: “He didn’t know what he was? Before this?”

"The genes don't surface until maturation," the guide said. "No one knows before their first cycle."

That meant Victor hadn't known either. Yuuri wondered who'd been with him. How long it took Victor to finally admit something was wrong and go to the hospital. He wondered how many people had refused help and wound up just transforming in their homes. Victor said mating was the best way to deal with it... maybe the alternatives were far worse.

"He was frantic after he transformed," Otabek said. “He only calmed down a minute ago.”

“… when Victor transformed," Yuuri realized.

Otabek’s expression was as unreadable as ever. “That’s what he needed, then.”

Yuuri looked over to the guide, but he was studiously watching the dragons, and in fact others were entering the stable now: formally dressed employees with ledgers and paperwork that sat on wooden benches to observe and record the proceedings.

Several times, the dark drake reached a filigreed paw to touch Victor’s pearl-speckled flank, and each time Victor slipped just out of reach, teasing and flicking his tail and egging Yuri on in a way that was so terribly _Victor_ Yuuri felt a pang of sympathy. He knew exactly how to pin Victor down and hammer the sass out of him, but Yuri…?

Yuuri blanched. He didn’t know anything about Yuri, not like _that_ , and if there was anyone who could rile Yuri up it was Victor. Some distant part of Yuuri still wanted to laugh, but then he saw a solid-gold appendage that _definitely_ hadn’t been there a moment ago, and Victor finally gave in and held still, and it was happening.

—

“Well… this is weird,” Yuuri murmured to Otabek as their husband and boyfriend, respectively, mated as clockwork dragons before their eyes.

Otabek grunted in agreement. There was a thrash of hay and crystal against concrete as Yuri’s foot scrabbled for better purchase.

“… So… I guess we get to keep an egg. From the clutch. First pick. Second for you, I guess,” Yuuri said a few minutes later.

“Yes.” Then, after a pause: “You don’t have to talk.”

“Sorry.” It was the only outlet Yuuri had for everything he was feeling. Shock, disbelief, awkwardness, some strange emotion like jealousy, only wasn’t sure who he was jealous of, and a vague arousal which only worsened when Victor started making _noises_. Yuri sounded like the bellows of a forge, metallic gusts of hot breath and the grind of stone going molten, but Victor sounded like tinkling glass and the tinny song of a steel comb music box, melody ever-changing but every tone and breath in tune. Victor’s silver, fish-like body nearly disappeared beneath Yuri’s rhythmically fluctuating bulk, and yet together their actions were strangely sultry.

How long was too long to stare? Part of Yuuri felt guilty for even looking, yet a glance around confirmed that the employees, at least, were very used to the proceedings, and in fact annotating it—even photographing it—without concern. Only Otabek seemed to similarly avert his gaze, as if he could only watch so much.

“Victor’s female,” Otabek said. Possibly a question, though with his tone it was hard to tell.

“I didn’t know either, until today,” Yuuri admitted. “I always just assumed…” But saying it out loud it seemed ludicrous to assume anything about something as fantastic as a Fabergé dragon.

“…This will happen again,” Otabek said.

“Y-yeah,” Yuuri said. “Every six years.”

Otabek turned to look at Yuuri, holding out his hand. “Then we’ll get used to it together.”

For some reason, in the midst of his wildly disparate feelings, that simple offer of camaraderie soaked through to Yuuri’s bones. He clasped Otabek’s hand and they shook. “Together.”

—

They ate dinner together sometime after Yuri and Victor’s third session, interrupted by downtime where both dragons groomed or ate from the troughs or slept. Ivan came to tell the pair that it would be several days of this, and there wasn’t much for them to do besides watch, which both Otabek and Yuuri seemed less-than-keen about. Instead, they retired to the main building to find a multi-course meal waiting for them and any modern entertainment they could wish for—games, movies, music—though the building remained disconnected from any network or cell service.

Despite the offerings, Yuuri and Otabek wound up simply playing cards in a parlor they stumbled upon, each taking turns showcasing games from their homelands and delighting when they found common ground. They stayed up late enough that Yuuri had little time to fret when he went to bed, passing out before he could do more than notice the sheets were far cooler without Victor beside him.

—

On the fourth day, Yuuri and Otabek had managed to map out the entirety of the palace—at least what was unlocked—and tour most of the grounds. They were just reaching the point of boredom when Ivan appeared at the edge of the garden: “Mr. Plisetsky is finished. He’s in his recovery room.”

Otabek tore away in the direction Ivan pointed, and Yuuri could only look hopefully for news of his own husband.

“Mr. Nikiforov will be at least another week for incubation,” Ivan apologized, “but he should be more lucid now that the mating’s ended. You may see him.”

—

Victor looked like he’d been carved from the full moon, his silver-pearl scales glowing with internal luminescence. Already, his stomach had a faint bulge to it, and he was sprawled luxuriously amongst the straw and hay of the stable, chewing on a mouthful of amethyst and rose quartz.

“Victor?” Yuuri chirped as they let him into the enclosure. Victor perked up immediately and galloped the two paces it took to get to Yuuri, which was about as frightening as it was endearing. Once Yuuri recovered from the shock he threw his arms around Victor’s neck, surprised when those taloned claws ever-so carefully came forward to hug him back. Yuuri could almost hear Victor’s voice in the melodic song he uttered: that delighted, exhaled _“Yuuu-ri”_.

“Did you… have fun?” Yuuri asked. Victor tipped his draconic head side to side, golden eyelids rotating over glass eyes in thoughtful blinks. “Not as much fun as with me, right?” Yuuri teased, and Victor cocked his head like the answer was obvious. “So… I guess we wait now… for you to lay the eggs?”

Victor stepped back from Yuuri and turned to the side to show off his belly, giving it a proud, affirmative pat. The eggs might not have been children, but they would be Victor’s creation all the same, and his dedication was clear. Victor went to one of the larger piles of hay, curling up on his back, and what could Yuuri do with an invitation like that besides join him?

Yuuri was far warmer that night, curled up against a clockwork dragon. All the luxury in the world couldn’t beat lying beside his husband in the hay.

—

Victor was just as dramatic as a dragon, and it only got worse the more he grew. He made Yuuri feed him, pet him, snuggle with him, and massage his stomach (as if _that_ wasn’t the weirdest sensation in the world, feeling the hard promise of Fabergé eggs underneath warm, smooth enamel scales). He walked the grounds with Yuuri or played in the garden fountain, posing as if he was some sort of dragon supermodel. And of course, every night he hunkered down in the soft sweet straw to sleep with Yuuri.

By the end of the week, when Victor let out a music box cry and grasped his stomach, Yuuri just assumed it was more theatrics. The staff who’d been constantly observing had other ideas, and within moments the stable was full again, everyone watching, and Yuuri could only rub Victor’s stomach and pray.

—

22 eggs.

Each one was unique, all different mixtures of pearl and pink, purple and gold, black and crystal. The one Yuuri and Victor chose started pearly at the top, with a beautiful crystal spire, fading to pink, then lavender, all the way to indigo at the base. It stood on three golden tiger’s feet and was rimmed in gold, with the same golden netting from Victor’s back wrapped evenly around it.

When it was all said and done, Yuuri placed it on the shelf next to the other two, the only indication that the past two weeks had been real and not some extended fever dream.

Victor, human again, came around behind Yuuri, arms wrapping around his waist and squeezing, lips nipping at his neck.

“Ready to go again?” Yuuri smirked. “So soon?”

“If what you say is true, and I was really with Yuri, I want to go again,” he kissed Yuuri’s neck, “and again,” and Yuuri’s ear, “and again, until all I can think about is you.”

“Isn’t that always how it is when I’m through with you?” Yuuri purred, pressing back against Victor, tilting his head to give Victor more. He touched one specific pearl on the side of the lavender egg, watching it spring open, revealing inside a perfect portrait of Yuuri, painted directly from Victor’s heart and manifested, even as a dragon, in the soul of his egg. Victor just grinned, reaching out to close the egg, to turn Yuuri’s attention back to him, fully and completely.

“I hope you’re never through with me.”


End file.
